Again, the terrifying cry rang out. The
Doctor quickened his pace along the
gloomy tunnels of the castle. Suddenly,
from the darkness lumbered the mighty
Aggedor, Royal Beast and Protector of
the Kingdom of Peladon!
The Doctor fumbled in his pocket.
Would the device work? As he trained
the spinning mirror on the eyes of
Aggedor, the terrible claws came closer
and closer. . . .
What is the secret behind the killings on
the Planet of Peladon? Is Aggedor
seeking revenge because the King of
Peladon wants his kingdom to become a
member of the Galactic Federation? Will
the Doctor escape the claws of Aggedor
and discover the truth?
A TARGET ADVENTURE
U.K. ...30p
AUSTRALIA...95c
NEW ZEALAND...95c
CANADA...$1.25
DOCTOR WHO
AND THE
CURSE OF PELADON
Based on the BBC television serial Doctor Who and the
Curse of Peladon by Brian Hayles by arrangement with the British Broadcasting Corporation
BRIAN HAYLES
Illustrated by Alan Willow
published by
A Target Book
First published in 1974
by the Paperback Division of W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd. A Howard & Wyndham Company
44 Hill Street, London WIX 8LB
Copyright © 1974 by Brian Hayles
‘Dr Who’ series copyright © 1974 by the British Broadcasting Corporation
Printed in Great Britain by
The Anchor Press Ltd Tiptree, Essex
ISBN 0 426 11498 1
CONTENTS
1 The Deadly Guardian 2 Into the Chasm
1
The Deadly Guardian
The electric storm clawed and tore its way across the night sky like a wild animal, flaring suddenly into ripples of lightning more eerie and majestic than the three moons of Peladon. The harsh wind, drowned only by fitful claps of ragged thunder, howled and keened through the crags and passes of Mount Megeshra while, far below, deep-shadowed valleys and canyons echoed and re-echoed to the almost continuous shudder of sound. Yet another blaze of light flowed across the torn sky, silhouetting the mountain peak. A mighty granite-stoned castle became starkly visible before slipping back into the darkness, its pointed turrets challenging the night. It was the Citadel of Peladon.
Inside the castle, thick walls reduced the winds sound to a chilling moan. On the walls, torch flames dipped and guttered fitfully as Torbis, Chancellor to King Peladon of Peladon, strode purposefully through the shadows along the corridor leading to the throne room. His lean face grimaced as he shrugged himself deeper into his heavy cloak. At his age, every winter seemed colder than the last. But this year would be a famous landmark in the chronicles of Peladon—and part at least of the glory would be his, Torbis, Chancellor and mentor to the young king.
As Torbis approached the great doorway to the throneroom, the guards standing there brought their ornate pikes up to attention. Torbis casually acknowledged their salute. The guard commander moved to open the throneroom doors, and Torbis glanced idly upwards at the massive statue set on the balcony over the entrance. With a small habitual gesture, Torbis acknowledged the stern image: a cruelly stylised rendering of Aggedor, the Royal Beast of Peladon, by tradition the spiritual guardian of the king. The chiselled face stared back sightlessly. Without giving further thought to the grim stone guardian, Torbis strode forward to meet his royal master.
Seated on the throne, Peladon watched affectionately as Torbis advanced and bowed his grizzled head in formal greeting. It was obvious that the old man was pleased. Peladon had good reason to share his pleasure. In spite of the well-meaning resistance of Hepesh, the High Priest, who now stood beside the throne, the promise that had once been no more than a dream would soon become reality. Peladon made a simple gesture of welcome. Torbis relaxed and stepped closer to the throne. His glance took in the two figures standing there: Grun, the King’s Champion, superbly muscled, impassive and ritually mute; and Hepesh, whose dark eyes scarcely hid his quiet hatred.
guidance and wisdom. There was still a chance that he could be persuaded—but time was running short.
Torbis spoke, proudly. ‘The delegate from Alpha Centauri has arrived, your majesty. We wait only the Chairman delegate from Earth.’
‘There is no point in wasting time,’ said Peladon crisply. ‘Alpha Centauri will present his credentials to me as soon as possible, tonight.’
Hepesh stepped forward, tight-faced and sharp-voiced. ‘Your Majesty—think again! This folly—’
Torbis turned on Hepesh, but spoke calmly.
‘This folly as you call it, Hepesh, has been discussed and decided in Grand Council. You have had your say there and you were outvoted. Accept that decision!’
‘Hepesh’, interceded Peladon, ‘this meeting with the Commissioners of the Galactic Federation is only a preliminary discussion—nothing more that that...’
‘You have been misled, Majesty—’ retorted Hepesh earnestly. ‘Torbis and the fools who support him seek to discard the ancient ways of our people!’
‘Superstition and ignorance may be the tricks of your trade, Priest’, snapped Torbis, ‘but they are no foundation for a glorious future!’
‘A future in slavery to aliens?’ questioned Hepesh coldly. ‘Such a denial of our great traditions will surely bring the curse of Aggedor upon us!’
‘Perhaps Aggedor has more faith in his people than you, Hepesh...’ growled the old Chancellor.
‘The storm outside these walls has raged ever since the first alien landed on our planet,’ asserted the High Priest. ‘The omens cannot be ignored!’
Peladon stood, slight but commanding. ‘Torbis— Hepesh!’ His young face was stern. ‘End this brawl!’
‘The spirit of Aggedor protects the throne,’ Hepesh observed acidly. ‘Do you deny his power?’
Torbis made to answer but turned to find Peladon standing between him and the High Priest. The two older men fell silent as the young king placed a restraining hand on each of them. His face carried rebuke—and the reminder of past friendship.
‘Friends...’ he said, quietly, ‘you have been more to me than councillors or regents. Both of you—in your own ways—have been my father since his sad death...’
Torbis studied Hepesh deliberately, but his words were for the king. ‘My only allegiance is to the throne’ he said.
‘Then end this hate between you...’ begged the king, ‘for my sake...’
The old Chancellor turned his tired face to Peladon, and nodded. ‘All I ask is that you do not forget your trust,’ he murmured, ‘or my teaching...’
Always the politician, thought Hepesh bitterly, as Torbis bowed before the king.
‘Torbis’, said the young king, ‘I shall not betray you—or my people...’
Hepesh could not remain silent. ‘But your majesty—’ Peladon quelled him with a glance. ‘Hepesh, there is no more to be said. If the Committee of Assessment judges us favourably, this planet will join the Galactic Federation. I expect your help to that end.’
Peladon paused, his eyes searching the High Priest’s face for the response he demanded. ‘Well?’
Hepesh said nothing, but bowed his head in silent agreement. The king was a child no longer; he must be obeyed. Peladon, satisfied, turned to Torbis, who stood with an air of quiet triumph.
Once outside the throne room, Torbis move to effect the king’s order with the deliberate dignity of his ancient rank. No one would have guessed at his elation. Inwardly, his pleasure was immense; the king’s assurances meant almost certain success for Torbis plans. The clumsy attempt by Hepesh to delay the Committee of Assessment had failed. The bubble of superstition had been burst, and the young king had freely taken the bold step out of barbarism towards a new, magnificent future. Federation technology would mean that cultural and social advances normally taking a thousand years could now be achieved in less than a century! A new Peladon, stronger, more sophisticated, more civilised...
Torbis stopped, suddenly, the dream wiped from his mind. A deep, throbbing howl rang out in the shadows of the corridor, and terror gripped the old man like a vice. He could neither turn nor run; and as he stood, immobile, that terrifying cry sounded again, closer now and more menacing still. What he next saw made Torbis gape with terror and fall to his knees, defenceless. ‘Aggedor!’ he gasped, cringing too late from the mighty claw that with one crushing blow struck him lifeless to the ground.
In the throne room, that dreadful animal howl had brought an immediate reaction from Hepesh. ‘Aggedor...’ he whispered hoarsely, glancing towards the young king who, like Hepesh and Grun, stood frozen in alarm at the blood-curdling cry. At the second cry, Peladon was already moving towards the corridor, but Grun, his Champion and protector, ran swiftly before him in the direction of the danger.
Hepesh tried to hold Peladon back, speaking urgently to him: ‘Majesty—no! The danger is too great!’
With a warning glance over his shoulder, Hepesh ran ahead. Peladon, now escorted by his guards, lagged only a few paces behind.
‘Aggedor!’
tracks. Few things could strike fear into Grun’s heart. To him, death on the battlefield was nothing. Now he moaned with wordless terror, letting fall his sword and covering his face abjectly before the shadowy, majestic being that stood menacingly over the body of Torbis. One glimpse of that savage, white-tusked head was enough—not even Grun, mightiest of Peladon’s warriors, could raise his sword against the Royal Beast and live. Then, as the King’s Champion grovelled before him, the vengeful cry echoed through the castle once more, and, with a flicker of shadows, Aggedor was gone.
At the sound of approaching feet, Grun stood, shaken by what he had witnessed and, desperate to explain. Hepesh threw Grun only a cursory glance, then knelt by the body to check for any signs of life; there were none. Drawing the old man’s cloak over the sightless face, Hepesh looked up at Peladon, and shook his head.
‘Torbis... dead?’ whispered the young king, his face drawn with suffering. ‘But how—why?’ He turned to Grun, his eyes fiercely questioning. ‘Grun—what happened?’
Puzzled, he watched as Grun knelt pathetically before him. He saw the intense fear which haunted the warrior’s face. Grun pointed to the nearby cast-metal torch holder. It was formed in a hideous representation of the Royal Beast. Knowing that Grun, though mute, would only tell the truth to his king, Peladon turned anxiously to his High Priest.
‘Aggedor...’ said Hepesh, grimly.
He rose to his feet from beside Torbis body, and studied his young master with bitter dignity.
2
Into the Chasm
The fury of the storm was increasing. The ceaseless flow of lightning across the sky threw the rocks and crags of Mount Megeshra into savage relief against the wind-hounded shadows. Into that maelstrom of noise was pitched another—grinding, mechanical, unnatural... and a shape unlike anything that had ever been seen on the planet Peladon. Suddenly, solidifying out of thin air, a chunky, dignified blue box fell victim to the winds claws. It lurched ominously, coming to rest on a rocky ledge poised over the chasm below. Heavy though it was, the strange box perceptibly moved, each time crushing against the brittle edge of the rock, and making its position yet more precarious at every moment. The wind, as though seeking to throw back this alien intruder, howled and screamed all the louder.
The interior of the blue box made nonsense of its drab outward appearance. Instead of what an Earthling of the 20th century would recognise as a police telephone box, its interior space was unlimited, and styled with an elegant futurism. At its centre stood a cylindrical complex of controls and monitoring equipment that would do justice to all but the most advanced spaceship; but the hands that operated the controls belonged to a tall, slightly theatrical figure, his exuberant shock of white hair topping a lean but humorous face, which smiled with boyish pleasure. He flipped one final switch, and the protesting mechanism groaned to a halt. His companion, her natural prettiness made even more beautiful by the evening dress she wore under her cloak, was less amused.
‘There you are, Jo,’ said the Doctor. ‘A perfect landing— well... nearly, anyway...’
The Doctor smiled benevolently, studying the controls with evident pride.
‘Its alright for you to grin.’ pointed out Jo with irritation. ‘Here am I all dolled up for an evening on the town with Mike Yates—’
‘And very pretty, too,’ complimented the Doctor, his eyes still checking the dials and gauges of the control panel.
‘You are infuriating, sometimes!’ exclaimed Jo. ‘Why I let you talk me into coming for a joy ride in this thing, I don’t know!’
The Doctor looked pained. ‘Not a joy ride, Jo... This is an occasion—the TARDIS’ first test flight since I got it working again!’
Jo couldn’t stay angry with the Doctor for long. Her face softened and she touched his arm as a sign of truce. ‘You and your toy,’ she smiled, shaking her head as though to a naughty child. ‘But it’s me that’s going to be late, you do realise that, don’t you!’
‘My dear Jo,’ comforted the Doctor, ‘we’ll have arrived back only seconds after we left—if not sooner. This is the TARDIS, you know—not a number 88 bus!’
Jo moved to the doors, obviously keen to be on her way to her evening date. She turned and smiled at the Doctor, expectantly. ‘That’s alright, then, she said brightly. ‘If you’ll just open the doors and let me out...’
But it wasn’t going to be as easy as that. Jo knew it as soon as she saw the Doctor hunched over the controls, his boyish face totally enthralled by the sheer enjoyment of putting the TARDIS through its paces again.
‘Routine landing procedure first, Jo...’ murmured the Doctor, assimilating the variety of information offered to him by the telemetric displays. ‘Atmosphere... gravity... magnetic field... yes, all normal. Now—lets see what the videoscanner tells us...’
master-viewing screen. It was completely blank. Jo gave a little sigh. ‘Precisely nothing,’ she said, glaring at the Doctor’s rear view as he dived under the control console and started groping amongst the mechanism there.
‘Aha!’ he cried, reappearing and waving a small piece of electronic equipment at Jo. ‘Its the Interstitial Beam Synthesizer on the blink again!’ He saw Jo’s face, and hurriedly stuffed the gadget into his pocket, sheepishly. ‘... But I’ll fix that later...’
Something about the Doctors face troubled Jo, and a tiny flicker of apprehension brought a frown to her eyes.
‘We are back at Base...’ she asked the Doctor, ‘aren’t we?’
‘Of course we are,’ the reply came back with a beaming smile, ‘and it was a perfect landing.’
The words were barely out of his mouth when the TARDIS gave a sudden shudder, and then an abrupt lurch. Jo was sent helplessly spinning against the control console, and from there bounced into the Doctor, who also had been thrown off balance. They steadied each other, but it was far from easy. The TARDIS was now at an angle well out of true.
‘You did say... perfect,’ Jo gulped, trying not to look alarmed.
‘Oh, everybody makes mistakes, Jo.’ quipped the Doctor. But his face was grave.
The TARDIS shivered, and shifted again. The frown on the Doctors face grew deeper, and Jo clung to his arm even more tightly. Something was wrong!
‘Doctor...’ she piped quaveringly, ‘are you sure we’re
back at UNIT H.Q.?’
Holding on to Jo with one arm, the Doctor reached out with his other hand and operated the control switch that would open the doors to the world outside.
But this was more easily said than done. As the doors opened, the devil-wind outside ripped and roared its way into the TARDIS, making it vibrate with its fury. It was all the Doctor and Jo could do to stay on their feet.
Opening the doors had been easy. Getting to them and outside was altogether more difficult. But as the Doctor slowly fought against the swirling wind that now drove into the TARDIS, his movement towards the door seemed to steady the tilting balance of the craft. Until he stepped outside, that is. Then his weight—the prime balancing factor against the desperate tilt of the floor—was removed, and the TARDIS leaned even more alarmingly. Jo, her evening cloak fluttering and flapping about her, could only cling to the control panel helplessly.
‘Doctor!’ she cried plaintively, ‘...where are we...?’ Outside, the Doctor was applying all his weight to the lower edge of the TARDIS’s doorframe, desperately trying to hold the balance against the shuddering windblast. He took a deep breath, sized up the situation and decided he didn’t like it in the least. The ledge on which the TARDIS was resting may well have been a mountain track once— now it was little more than a narrow shelf of crumbling rock. It needed very little more to send the blue box toppling down to the chasm below. There wasn’t a moment to lose.
The Doctor spoke calmly, but with a deliberate authority that Jo knew better than to question. ‘We’ve got ourselves halfway up a mountain, Jo...’ he called back into the TARDIS, forced to pitch his voice above the shriek of the wind. ‘The TARDIS is balanced on the edge of a rock shelf. Just don’t sneeze, that’s all...’
Jo could just see the Doctor’s face, and she answered bravely to his reassuring smile. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘When I tell you to move, move—but gently.
She nodded, and hoped the Doctor couldn’t see that she was shivering. She concentrated on what he was saying, and her fear receded a little as she acted out his commands. ‘Down on your hands and knees, then... That’s it. Now—move towards me... slowly.’
For a moment as she crouched, Jo could no longer see the Doctor and her heart leaped into her mouth. But she found that her new position took her out of the whiplash of the wind, enabling her to crawl towards the door reasonably easily. Her eyes were fixed on the Doctors hand stretched out towards her. Then, almost within reach, she slipped—and the TARDIS shuddered. In that brief moment of panic, Jo flattened herself against the floor, heart pumping furiously.
‘Come on, Jo!’ The Doctor’s voice, low and urgent, made her look up. His hand was reaching for hers, only inches away—but her panic paralysed her. She couldn’t move.
‘Very gently, Jo...’ murmured the Doctor, the calmness in his eyes giving her strength. ‘Give me your right hand...’
Willing herself into motion, Jo reached out. Just as her hand touched the Doctors, the TARDIS moved again. She closed her eyes tight, and gripped hard.
Still his voice was there, calm and clear. ‘That’s it... now the other hand...’
Her eyes now fixed on the Doctors face, Jo brought her hand into his confident grasp. For a moment, locked together at arm’s length, they breathed and listened tensely to the rumble of disintegrating rock outside.
Then, taking all Jo’s weight, the Doctor leaned hard backwards and rapped out the command: ‘Pull yourself out—now!’
been swept down to the awful rocks below, she heaved a shuddering sigh of relief. The Doctor gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then moved past her to the rock edge. She crawled up to his shoulder and looked down. Kneeling there together, they watched the tumbling fall of the bizarre blue box as it vanished into the echoing shadows, far beneath them.
Jo gasped with horror. ‘It’ll be smashed to bits!’
The Doctor drew her back from the edge, gently. ‘No it won’t, Jo,’ he said patiently. ‘The TARDIS may have its
faults, but it is indestructible... ‘
‘After a fall like that?’ Jo couldn’t believe it. ‘It’s hundreds of feet down—you can’t even see the bottom!’
‘Our real worry, observed the Doctor thoughtfully, ‘is how to get to it from here...’
Jo looked from his frowning face to the chasm at their feet. She shivered.
‘It’s impossible,’ she said.
A sudden gust of wind ruled the Doctor’s hair, and he narrowed his eyes against its sting. ‘I’m afraid you might be right, Jo...’ he mused.
Jo followed his gaze as he tried to follow the line of the broken path, upwards. As he looked, an even brighter flash of lightning than before lit the crags above them. The Doctors face grew alert, and he pointed upwards, urgently. Jo looked too, but had to wait for the next lightning flash before she could see the grim castle which topped the mountain peak far above.
‘I think we’ll go and ask for help...’ said the Doctor, brightly.
‘Up there... ?’ exclaimed Jo in dismay.
‘Somebody must be home,’ remarked the Doctor drily, ‘unless you have a better idea?’
The Doctor tested his first foothold. ‘Exactly!’ he declared. ‘And we won’t find out any quicker, hanging about out here in this weather, will we?’
She stared at him aghast, the wind whipping her cloak about her. ‘You don’t mean... we’ve got to climb?’
The Doctor smiled at her, reassuringly. ‘Once we reach a regular pathway, it’ll be easier. You’ll see, Jo.’
She smiled weakly, and tried to put the memory of the falling TARDIS out of her mind. ‘After this,’ she shouted above the storm, ‘Everest will be simple!’
And, boldly, they began to climb.
The tragedy of Torbis’ death loomed like a hovering bird of prey over the citadel; but Peladon knew what he had to do. He had made a solemn promise to the old man, and he would keep it. The killing, whatever the real reason behind it, must not be allowed to destroy the dream for which Torbis had fought with such determination. As the body of the Chancellor was being richly prepared for traditional burning, Peladon was sending Hepesh to complete what Torbis had set out to do: summon the latest alien arrival for formal presentation to the king. Hepesh had been almost sullen in his reluctance, but the king had insisted. To stop the process now would be worse than a defeat; it would put back the clock by a hundred years. Torbis had been right—the time was now. On that, Peladon was determined.
‘The delegate from Alpha Centauri, Council member of the Galactic Federation, presents himself before you, King Peladon.’
containing one huge yet strangely beautiful eye. Due to gravitational differences the body of Alpha Centauri found swift movement difficult, but the tentacles were capable of sensitively mimed expression. They rippled politely as Peladon spoke. ‘Peladon welcomes the delegate from Alpha Centauri...’
The young king’s face was grave, betraying no wonder at this, the third of the aliens so far arrived. The others were no less unusual in appearance, but they were intelligent and their mission was sincere. When Alpha Centauri spoke, however, Peladon could barely conceal a smile. For the voice that came from the shimmering hexapod was as shrill and elegant as a nervous lady-in-waiting. In spite of the authority invested in the alien, the effect was almost comical. Even Hepesh raised an eyebrow as he listened to the alien delegates formal response.
‘As a member of the Preliminary Assessment Commission, I have great hopes that your planet will be acceptable as a candidate for the Galactic Federation,’ piped the exquisite voice. ‘A magnificent future could be yours...’
‘That is my sincere hope,’ said Peladon. Then indicating Hepesh, he continued, ‘Hepesh, my acting Chancellor and High Priest, will give you every assistance in your mission.’
The six tentacles indicated their acknowledgement. Hepesh tried not to flinch from their moist and gleaming gesture of friendship.
‘We willingly accept the... hand of friendship,’ the High Priest said diplomatically. ‘The glorious future that you speak of will be given consideration...’
‘You will realise,’ fluted the hexapod alien, ‘that there are certain necessary conditions to be met.’
‘My formal coronation will not take place until we have achieved Federation Membership,’ offered Peladon warmly. ‘That is the extent of my personal commitment.’
‘Your majesty is obviously sincere,’ trilled Alpha Centauri, ‘and I have little doubt that we shall quickly decide—’
‘Unfortunately,’ interjected Hepesh with cold logic, ‘our discussions cannot begin until the arrival of the Chairman delegate from Earth.’
‘He will be here soon, Hepesh. Earth is many light years from us. Is that not so, Alpha Centauri?’ said the king.
‘Indeed, your majesty,’ the alien replied, mildly disparaging, ‘—a remote and unattractive planet, I believe.’
‘The fact remains,’ retorted the High Priest, ‘that the Earth delegate is not here. The omens are not good!’
Peladon could see the anger boiling behind Hepesh’s eyes, and sensed the outburst that was to come. He leaned forward, his hand raised in admonishment, but Hepesh was not to be denied. ‘Your majesty ignored my warning before,’ insisted the haughty priest, ‘and now Torbis your respected Chancellor lies dead... slain by the wrath of Aggedor!’
‘Hepesh! Enough!’ snapped the king, and the High Priest fell silent. But his words had had effect. Alpha Centauri’s tentacles rippled uneasily, their colours changing to a milky blue in sure indication of alarm.
‘You speak of death... Is there danger here?’ queried Alpha Centauri. ‘Such a state of affairs is not acceptable to the Commission!’
‘It is an internal matter,’ Peladon replied soothingly. ‘There is no reason for the delegates to be troubled.’
‘But your Chancellor has been killed...?’ insisted the
hexapod nervously. ‘An atmosphere of violence is not suitable for a balanced assessment!’
delegates. The Commission can continue with perfect safety.’
The tentacles became less agitated, and their colour became almost normal once more. Alpha’s voice too, dropped to a less hysterical pitch as the king anxiously awaited the reply.
‘Naturally,’ murmured the hexapod, ‘I accept your majesty’s assurances...’
‘Do not condemn us for being ruled by our ancestors,’ begged the king. ‘We have many primitive traditions that must seem strange to you... but we are willing to learn.’
With a small gesture, Peladon indicated that the audience was at an end. Hepesh bowed and moved towards the throne room doors.
‘Chancellor Hepesh will escort you to the delegates meeting chamber,’ the king said, quietly dismissive, and settled back on to the throne. Alpha Centauri turned gracefully and followed Hepesh out. But Peladon’s eyes, as he watched them go, were dark and deeply troubled...
The path leading up the mountainside was growing increasingly steeper. Negotiating the narrow, boulder-strewn way was made no easier by the cutting, swirling wind, and Jo was desperately tired. The Doctor seemed to have limitless energy, and frequently half-carried Jo over the more impassable sections—but they seemed nowhere near to reaching the mighty castle set high above them. Coming to a wider, scrub-covered ledge, Jo leaned against the rock face in an attempt to escape the wind and get her breath back. Seeing her tired face, the Doctor came back to her, and shielded her, sympathetically. Her hair, wisping into a wild parody of the elegant style Jo had set it in for her dinner date, added to the strain in her face. She looked upwards, past the Doctor, then back into his face and shook her head.
The Doctor tried to coax her gently into continuing. He knew the dangers of exposure on a mountainside in weather like this. ‘I know its tough, Jo... but you’re doing fine.’
‘I’ve nearly broken my neck getting this far!’ she
complained miserably, and she slumped back against the rock face, near to tears. But the Doctor’s determined face showed he would make no concessions and his voice was equally purposeful.
‘Well, we can’t go back. And we can’t very well stay here all night, can we? We’ll take a breather and press on.’
The breather was only a short one; but it gave Jo enough time to pull herself together and make a further effort. By the time she was ready to go on, the Doctor had scouted their situation and come up with a plan.
‘The path has crumbled away further up—we’ll have to traverse along this ledge and find another way, that’s all,’ he decided. ‘I’ll take a look on this side. Stay here, Jo, will you?’
Jo was only too happy to rest for a moment longer, and tucked herself into a corner of the rock which was partly protected by a dense patch of scrub. When the Doctor returned she was nowhere to be seen. His features tightened in alarm. What had happened?
‘Jo!’ He shouted against the howl of the wind. ‘Where are you? Jo!’ He glanced at the edge of the rock shelf, and for a sickening moment wondered if Jo had been swept over into the chasm far below—then the sound of her voice made him turn with relief to the rock face behind him.
‘Over here, Doctor!’ came Jo’s excited voice. At first, he couldn’t see any sign of her. Then, from the side of the clump of scrub, her tousled head looked out at him, bright-eyed and smiling.
‘It’s a tunnel—behind this bush,’ she cried. ‘Come and see.’
should’ve been in total darkness—but it wasn’t. Jo was much too pleased to be out of the wind that still howled outside—though it was barely audible now.
‘I just fell into it!’ she bubbled excitedly. ‘Isn’t it super?’ The Doctor didn’t answer immediately. He was examining a broad vein of phosphorescent rock. It was giving off enough light to disperse all but the blackest shadows. Jo, watching him, suddenly realised that the tunnel was not merely a sanctuary against the wind—it was man-made, and it had to lead somewhere.
‘Doctor... ‘ she ventured, ‘I don’t like it.’
The Doctor was already tracing the line of faint light farther down the tunnel. Jo followed him, hastily.
‘Fascinating...’ he murmured, then paused and pointed out to Jo that the walls were only partially natural.
‘I know,’ she said, ‘I can see. But who did it?’
‘Carved out of the living rock,’ mused the Doctor. ‘Clumsy, but effective. And this band of phosphorescent strata... That’s ingenious!’
‘It’s also very peculiar,’ muttered Jo, keeping close. to the Doctor’s shoulder. ‘Have you even seen anything like it before?’
‘Can’t say that I have, Jo... no...’
‘And that storm outside—didn’t you notice anything odd about that, too?’ asked Jo, urgently.
‘In what way?’ muttered the Doctor casually, his mind more taken by the quality of the rock formation.
‘Well... all that sheet lightning and thunder and wind— but no rain?’
‘And what,’ queried the Doctor, ‘do you deduce from that?’
‘Nothing,’ said Jo, trying to sound casual. ‘It’s just that I wonder if were still on Earth. That’s all.’
The Doctor stopped examining the rock, and turned to look gravely into Jo’s wide-eyed face. He didn’t smile.
wound its way deeper into the mountain. ‘I think we’d better try and find out, don’t you?’
The delegate’s conference room was, like the rest of the mighty castle, walled with faced stone. In spite of its rugged quality it was luxurious by Pel standards. Four alcoves contained iron-hinged wooden doors leading to the living quarters reserved for each alien. The walls between these alcoves were hung with richly woven tapestries bearing the Royal Arms. In the lower quartering of each tapestry featured in gold, was a stark representation of Aggedor, the Royal Beast. Wall torches lit the room cheerfully, and another, smaller alcove contained the statue of a huntsman, cast in a metal like bronze. Alpha Centauri was used to more elegant and sophisticated surroundings. His sensory system flinched slightly at the primitive impact made by the chamber. Politeness however prevented his commenting on the barbarism of the style and content of Peladon’s hospitality. ‘Very suitable,’ piped the iridescent hexapod rippling his tentacles in appreciation.
‘Our ways are different from yours, naturally,’ murmured Hepesh, assuming correctly that Alpha Centauri was used to something better. ‘If there is anything further that you wish...’
‘A question,’ fluted the hexapod, its solitary eye confronting Hepesh at uncomfortably close range. ‘Why was your Chancellor destroyed?’
‘Greetings. I am the delegate from Arcturus. Who are you?’
Alpha Centauri had never before met an Arcturian face to face, and what he now witnessed made his sensors tingle with curiosity and apprehension. At first glance he saw a tinted but transparent globe of fluid, mounted on a compact and elaborate traction unit, the whole strongly resembling a robot rather than an alien life-form. But closer examination showed that within the fluid floated a delicate, multi-strand organism, and that at its centre was lodged the vital neuro-complex that governed its actions. Alpha Centauri’s admiration for the design and elegant complexity of the life-support unit mingled with an indescribable feeling of unease. Something told him that Arcturus was dangerous. It would pay to take care.
‘The delegate from Alpha Centauri,’ announced Hepesh, as politely as his distaste for both aliens would allow.
‘Greetings, delegate Arcturus,’ said the gleaming hexapod. ‘Have you heard about the incident? A court official has been killed.’
Inside its globe, the delicate organism grew agitated, its surrounding fluid darkening ominously. ‘If there has been violence, we could be in danger,’ rapped out the clinical voice. ‘Hepesh—explain!’
‘An internal matter, delegate Arcturus,’ answered the High Priest. ‘Do not be concerned...’
‘We are on a planet alien to our own life-form’ snapped Arcturus, ‘therefore we are bound to be concerned for our own safety. Self-preservation is of vital importance!’
‘Members of the Federation,’ explained Alpha Centauri with appropriate tentacle movements, ‘are committed to the rejection of violence.’
‘But,’ grated Arcturus chillingly, ‘we are capable of self-defence when necessary. Observe!’
life-support unit opened, revealing the stub of a normally concealed weapon. Small in scale, it seemed innocuous— until it fired. Then, with a spit of electronic power, the pencil-thin beam of laser light flashed out. Within a split second, the statue glowed, then disintegrated. Hepesh remained impassive, but there was fear in his eyes. Alpha Centauri flushed deep blue with disquiet and was happy to see Arcturus deadly laser gun retract and click shut again.
‘Be warned,’ Arcturus cautioned. ‘Do not provoke us!’ Hepesh bowed politely and moved to the door. Before leaving he turned and said with dignity, ‘We desire only your friendship.’
The deeper Jo and the Doctor went into the mountain, the darker the passage became, in spite of the natural light from the strange streak of phosphorescent rock. The Doctor, leading carefully, suddenly stopped. Jo bumped into him and clutched his arm anxiously. ‘What is it?’ she whispered, straining her eyes to see what lay ahead, She could detect nothing.
‘It’s a light, Jo,’ murmured the Doctor. ‘It could be a door. Gently, now...’
But the light falling into the passage a little way ahead was not a door. As they crept closer to the source, they saw it plainly for what it was: a window guarded by a carved stone grille. Still wary, they peered into the chamber beyond, and Jo gave a little gasp. Inside the grille, she glimpsed a small room containing an altar. Over it hung a mask, carved, hideous yet proud, into the living rock. Jo got her breath back and stared at the carving, fascinated. Her forehead pressed against the stone bars that kept intruders at bay. The Doctor looked thoughtful and said nothing. Neither of them knew that they were looking on the face of Aggedor.
‘Doctor,’ she murmured, ‘what is it? Some sort of shrine?’
‘Yes, agreed the Doctor, ‘it could well be, Jo.’
‘Is that the god, then?’ asked Jo. ‘Or is it a demon? I’ve never seen anything like it before. Have you?’
‘No, I haven’t.’ The Doctor paused, then frowned. ‘Not on Earth, at any rate...’
Jo looked sharply at him. She understood just what he
meant. Not on Earth! Then where were they? The Doctor
didn’t give her the chance to ask the question.
‘Lets move on, Jo,’ he said, and walked forward into the tunnel which loomed ahead. Jo quickly ran after him. Within the space of a dozen paces, they had stopped again. Ahead of them the tunnel forked, and neither the right nor the left branch offered greater hope of freedom. Jo looked up at the Doctor’s brooding face and wondered what he was thinking.
‘Eeny, meeny, miney, mo,’ recited the Doctor, as though in answer to Jo’s unspoken question. Then, with a beaming smile, he gestured grandly towards the right-hand fork, implying that Jo should lead the way. Amused, Jo dropped a quick curtsey, and turned to lead on—but instead of moving forward, she flung herself against the Doctor’s chest in desperation. For, out of the depths of the right-hand path, came the ringing, bestial howl of Aggedor. As Jo buried her face against him, the Doctor stared hard past her. He could see nothing but darkness beyond. Once more that terrifying cry rang out, closer now and with more menace. At last the Doctor moved, bundling Jo forward quickly.
3
An Enemy from the Past
Peladon was alone. He had sent Grun the Faithful from him, and Grun, although unable to put thought into words, had understood Peladon’s deep need for solitude. The young king’s thoughts were all on Torbis and the years past that he had spent guiding and teaching the boy who would one day be king. It had not been Torbis’ task alone: Hepesh, too, had played his part. Until the coming of the aliens, the two men had been as one: uncles to the young charge who had been placed so trustingly in their care by Ellua, the boy-king’s Earthling mother. Was Hepesh right? Had she betrayed them into a new slavery? Peladon rejected this without question. Hepesh was a creature of the past. Peladon’s mother had been blessed with a rare vision. What she foresaw must come true.
One particular memory drifted into his mind; the day when, accompanied by his mother, Hepesh and Torbis, Peladon had been brought to the throne room and told the meaning of his coming of age. He had refused to sit upon the throne, and had insisted that it could belong only to his illustrious father, the dead king. But Torbis had lifted him up and gently set him on the throne, and Hepesh had spoken gently to him, telling him what was to be... The words still echoed in his mind, proudly.
But now Torbis was dead. The coronation would be an empty ritual without him, although his task would be so near to completion once the young king was anointed and crowned. Now he was king-elect, and not all-powerful; then he would be ruler with total power. Hepesh, the High Priest of Aggedor, was held in high esteem throughout the land. Peladon would need to lean heavily on him in the daily running of the affairs of the kingdom. Once there had been complete trust in the two men who guided him; now, Peladon’s mind was filled with questions. Should he remain committed to the Federation, or was this the moment to reconsider? Was the death of Torbis a black omen, as Hepesh claimed? Peladon suddenly became aware that he was no longer alone. He looked up and frowned. Hepesh was standing before him as though summoned by the questions in Peladon’s mind. The king did not hesitate to speak.
‘Why was Torbis killed, Hepesh?’ he said, his voice tight with emotion.
‘Torbis saw your future as a servant of the Galactic Federation. That was wrong. I—and your people—see you as the independent ruler of a glorious kingdom.’
Peladon frowned more deeply. The answer was not complete—Hepesh was using formal words to hide facts.
‘And do you believe that he was destroyed by Aggedor?’ Hepesh replied smoothly, without pause. ‘It was a terrible warning. We dare not ignore it!’
Another evasion, thought Peladon. He leaned forward, sharp-eyed, determined to wring a clear-cut answer from the older man. ‘The Federation delegates are here at my royal invitation,’ he said pointedly. ‘Why, then, was it not I who was struck down?’
‘Hepesh, it was you that told me, just as Torbis did, that a king must choose—and choose courageously,’ cried Peladon. ‘I made that choice!’
The High Priest inclined his head, acknowledging the implied rebuke, but his reply was firm; ‘Aggedor has shown us the true way...’
Peladon could control his anger at the old man’s stubbornness no longer.
‘Backwards, into superstition?’ he snapped, his eyes blazing. ‘Hepesh—it was you that taught me to fight, to ride—and to think! Help me to realise my dreams!’
Hepesh did not answer, but met his young lord’s gaze with impassive dignity. Peladon’s hand gripped his shoulder.
‘I know what is best for my people,’ said the king. The priest, unflinching, spoke with a quiet intensity. ‘And I do not trust the aliens!’ he said. ‘I will not let them lead you into a trap!’
Peladon drew back, and exclaimed icily, ‘They have been open and honest with us, Hepesh.’
It was the priest’s turn to show anger now. ‘To them, we are no more than savages! They despise and distrust us!’
‘Then I will talk to them, freely, to remove all suspicion from their minds,’ retorted Peladon. ‘Summon the delegates!’ The old man did not move, but the sharp disapproval on his face did not deter his master.
‘Now, Hepesh!’
Peladon watched the High Priest leave. The massive doors closed after him. The young king had already made a decision: if Hepesh intended to hold back, it was time to seek new allies.
throne room entrance. Grun’s loyalties were traditional: to Peladon, to Hepesh, and, most of all, to the spirit that ruled the throne—Aggedor. As the defender of that throne, Grun would act—ruthlessly if necessary—to preserve his king. But clearly, he was not yet aware of the danger of the aliens. It was time for Hepesh to teach him.
‘Grun,’ murmured Hepesh, and paused before continuing to study the handsome rugged face, ‘you have been honoured.’ Grun stared back at him, not fully comprehending the High Priest’s purpose in taking him aside. Hepesh contrived to place himself between the King’s Champion and the statue of Aggedor that surmounted the throne room entrance, then spoke on, quickly and purposefully.
‘You have seen the face of the living Aggedor—and yet you have been spared! It is a sign...’
Grun’s eyes instinctively sought the great stone statue which was set on the high balcony. When his eyes met those of Hepesh, they revealed awe—and fear.
‘I am the holy servant of Aggedor,’ continued the High
Priest, ‘and it is for me to interpret such a sign. It is for you
to act, if so ordained. Is this the truth?’
Grun nodded; and behind the stern mask of his face, Hepesh smiled. He held the key to Grun’s utter obedience.
His ornately ringed hand clasped the metal-studded wristguard of the warriors light armour, and he moved closer, his voice an urgent whisper. ‘You know the legend—the ancient Curse of Peladon—you know what it means, Grun?’
Grun nodded seriously as Hepesh’s words thrust home. ‘Our kingdom is in danger, Grun... and with it, our king. You are his protector, and it is to you that Aggedor has given a warning of his displeasure. He knows the future, Grun. He sees it as we cannot, and he is angry!’
corridor in the direction of the delegates’ chambers. Hepesh nodded; Grun understood.
‘Yes, Grun—those aliens are strangers to our great traditions. They blind the king with golden promises, but they bring only danger and mistrust!’ Hepesh stared hard into Grun’s eyes. ‘They are our enemies, Grun—enemies of the king, and of Aggedor. They must be... dealt with. But cunningly. Do you understand?’
He looked over his shoulder at the great statue which loomed over the doorway to the throne room. Grun followed his gaze, then looked back into the High Priests eyes, knowing what he had to do. Hepesh nodded, satisfied, and offered his holy ring, a huge jewel carved into the form of Aggedor’s face. Grun knelt, briefly, pressing the ring to his lips then against his broad forehead, accepting Hepesh’s blessing for the task that he must now perform. He stood and saluted formally, as the priest moved quietly away on his own errand.
‘I go to summon the delegates to the King’s presence, Grun. They will come this way shortly. Think only of this—’ Hepesh threw one last glance at the grim-faced statue, ‘Aggedor has spoken...’
The eerie cry of the unknown threat behind them had not reached the Doctor and Jo for several minutes now. Their pace had slowed considerably. The vein of phosphorus light had virtually dwindled to nothing and in the gloom, the rock-scattered floor had made walking dangerous. Suddenly a welcome glow appeared ahead.
‘It’s a torch,’ Jo cried excitedly. ‘Doctor, can you see? Civilisation at last!’
‘Yes,’ the Doctor agreed, rubbing his chin and brooding, ‘but a rather unusual one. Look at the holder, Jo. It’s the equivalent of the Renaissance on Earth—the late Middle Ages.’
The Doctor finished examining the metal torch-holder, and looked further along the tunnel. It bent to the right, and from the curve came the flickering glow of what appeared to be other torches. He took Jo by the elbow, and moved onward. Neither of them noticed that the floor was smoother now—not ridged and rough-hewn, but laid with flagstones.
‘Come on then, Jo,’ smiled the Doctor, ‘I’ve a feeling that we’re coming to the end of it at last...’
It wasn’t until they turned the corner that they realised how right the Doctor was—the tunnel ended in a blank, man-made wall. Jo turned to the Doctor, her face miserable with despair.
‘We’re trapped,’ she said plaintively. ‘All this way, and its a dead end!’
‘Don’t be so sure, Jo. Don’t you notice something rather... unusual?’ observed the Doctor drily.
‘Apart from the fact that were very probably stuck in the middle of some freaky planet in the Dark Ages, no.’
‘Its the torches, Jo . . ‘. indicated the Doctor. ‘If this tunnel is never used, why are they alight?’
‘A brilliant deduction, my dear Doctor,’ grumbled Jo wearily, ‘but you still haven’t told me how we get out!’
The Doctor moved to the torch nearest the end wall of the tunnel and fumbled with it as he muttered half to himself. ‘They were an ingenious lot of fellows in the Middle Ages, Jo... Got up to all sorts of tricks. Ah, yes, I thought as much!’ With a low groan, the wall swung open—and they were inside the citadel.
‘These backward planets,’ the hexapod sighed despondently, ‘so uncivilised... no atmosphere purifier... no protein dispensers.’
The thin rasp of Arcturus’ metallic voice brought no comfort. ‘This is a diplomatic mission,’ came his reply, ‘not a holiday!’
‘A Galactic official deserves some consideration at least!’ twittered the octopod-headed alien. ‘And have you seen the colour scheme in my living quarters? They obviously have no idea what ‘peaceful’ means!’
‘We are here,’ rapped out the Arcturian delegate, ‘to bring order and political unity to this planet—not to decorate it like a Centaurian fun-palace.’
Before Alpha Centauri could think of an effective reply, the door opened. Standing there was Hepesh, cold-faced and haughty. Both Arcturus and the mildly agitated hexapod swung round to confront him, but he wasted no time in casual greetings. ‘King Peladon sends greetings and requests your immediate presence in his throne room’, he announced.
‘Does this mean that the Earth delegate has arrived at last?’ grated Arcturus, moving towards Hepesh.
‘Not yet,’ replied the High Priest, addressing himself to the quivering organism within the tinted globe.
‘But we cannot proceed without our Chairman!’ protested Alpha Centauri, tentacles rippling in vague alarm.
‘This is an informal meeting requested by his majesty for personal reasons,’ blandly replied Hepesh, turning abruptly to lead the way out. He checked at Arcturus’ sharp voice.
‘The delegate from Mars—’
The entrance to the secret tunnel was concealed behind art ornate tapestry, and it took Jo and the Doctor a full minute to extricate themselves from its heavy folds. Looking about, they found themselves in a deep alcove set off from the broad main corridor. With a quick glance, the Doctor took in the manner of building, its style and rather heavy aspect. It confirmed his earlier guess, and he smiled at Jo rather smugly.
‘Definitely an emergent civilisation, Jo. Probably with strong ties to an earlier, more barbaric hierarchy.’
‘That makes all the difference, of course,’ remarked Jo, sarcastically. ‘All we need is King Arthur and his knights!’
‘Wrong period, I’m afraid Jo,’ smiled the Doctor, ‘and this certainly isn’t Camelot. Rather fine castle, though, don’t you think?’
Jo shrugged, and followed the Doctor as he paced forward into the deserted corridor. ‘Let’s try this way,’ he said, brightly—but Jo wasn’t listening to him.
‘Doctor!’
He turned. Her face was full of alarm. Then he, too, heard the noise... a heavy, shuffling stride, overlayed with a rhythmic hissing sound. Jo pulled the Doctor into the shadows of the alcove. Neither of them spoke, but huddled there listening intently as the eerie noise drew nearer... nearer... and at last came into sight. Jo’s eyes, wide with fright, could barely smother a gasp of horror; even the Doctor grew tense at what they now saw.
relentlessly as a battle tank, it strode past them down the corridor and out of sight.
‘Doctor...’ murmured Jo weakly, ‘what was it?
The Doctor’s face was grim, as he replied, ‘That, Jo, was an Ice Warrior... product of the planet Mars!’
‘You’ve met them before?’ asked Jo wonderingly.
‘Yes. And they aren’t very pleasant company,’ replied the Doctor, drawing back the tapestry that hid the concealed door. ‘This is no place for us. Back to the tunnel—come on!’
But the wall was closed. The Doctor was so intent upon finding the catch that would release the secret door and allow them to escape, that he barely noticed the sound of the approaching guards—until it was too late. He turned to find himself, like Jo, pinned against the wall by a ring of ornate but vicious pikes. This time, there was no escape. Jo caught the Doctor’s look of resignation and agreed with him.
‘Alright,’ she sighed. ‘Lets give ourselves up. At least this lot look human...’
In the throne room, the delegate Arcturus and Alpha Centauri had taken their place before Peladon, who with Hepesh and Grun flanking him, patiently awaited the last delegate to join the group: Izlyr the Martian, and his lieutenant Ssorg. When the Martians had taken their place, the guards closed the great doors behind them. Peladon observed Izlyr as he approached the throne and greeted the king. Where Ssorg was massive and brutal, Izlyr was sharply elegant. His helmet head revealed his rank; his speech and physical presence spoke without doubt of the martial tradition which had formed him. Although documented as officially representing the Galactic Federation as an agent for peace, every inch of him bore the hallmark of the warrior class. He spoke with icy precision.
Peladon nodded graciously and, with a gesture, greeted the assembled delegates. He spoke without formality. He knew it was imperative that these aliens believe in his sincerity. If they did not, everything was lost.
‘Thank you for your attendance,’ said the young king pleasantly. ‘By now, you know of the tragic incident involving my Chancellor, Torbis. Since his sad death, it is Hepesh, my High Priest, who acts as my administrator. The loss was a personal one. Torbis was more than my adviser; he was a trusted friend.’
‘But he was killed,’ stated Izlyr coldly. ‘Why?’
Before Peladon could answer, Hepesh stepped forward and spoke. As High Priest, Chancellor, and acting regent, he had this traditional right. But Peladon’s eyes flashed in quiet anger as Hepesh boldly addressed the aliens.
‘The death of Torbis was a supernatural warning—!’ he cried. Before he could continue, Peladon interrupted.
‘Hepesh offers a personal opinion, not mine. He claims this tragedy is connected with one of our more ancient legends—’
With a faint whine of his traction unit, Arcturus skimmed forward slightly and gave voice. ‘Your priest speaks of a warning. Perhaps it is more than that.’
‘It is a superstition—nothing more!’ exclaimed the young king, ‘It has no bearing on the purposes of your committee. You must understand that!’
‘On the contrary,’ hissed Izlyr, ‘the incident could represent a meaningful threat—to us, and to the Federation.’
‘But it was Torbis who died,’ insisted Peladon earnestly: ‘This legend concerns my people only!’
Alpha Centauri was agitated but not yet hysterical: ‘Your ancient legend seems rather violent and unpleasant... and rather too convenient.’
Hepesh looked towards the young king with the merest hint of challenge in his eyes. The royal youth was powerless to refuse. He nodded grimly. With a bold gesture, the High Priest indicated the tapestry behind the throne and, on it, the representation of the Royal Beast, Aggedor.
‘It concerns the Royal Beast of Peladon,’ he declaimed with quiet authority, ‘a creature now extinct, but once the fiercest of all wild beasts on this planet. Only young men of noble birth would hunt him to prove their courage. His fur was so rare that it was used to trim our royal cloak and the coronation crown. And it is his majestic head that is our royal symbol.’
Alpha Centauri muttered an aside to Arcturus, making sure it did not reach the throne. ‘These are such barbaric practices...’ The hexapod sighed, its sensors trembling at the thought of such a violent creature.
‘Mighty is Aggedor,’ continued Hepesh in the voice he used in the main for religious celebrations and state ceremonies, ‘and it is written there will come a time when the spirit of Aggedor will rise to warn—and to defend—his royal master, Peladon. For, at that time strangers will appear upon the face of the land, bringing peril to the king, and dreadful tribulation to his kingdom.’
Peladon and Hepesh that this Earth-alien had the face and form of Ellua, long dead.
The Doctor stared intently at the strange mixed gathering about the simple throne
narrowed as he saw the commanding figure of the Martian warlord move towards him. The Ice Warrior they had seen earlier stood close by his shoulder. Jo tensed at the menacing approach of the grim pair, and the Doctor tried to reassure her.
‘It’ll be alright Jo...’ he murmured as she glanced appealingly towards him. At his words, she tried to smile. The warlord came to a crisp halt directly before the Doctor. Then, with a swift, imperious gesture, he first struck his own left shoulder with his clenched fist and offered his open gauntleted hand in greeting to the Doctor.
‘Chairman delegate from Earth—greetings!’ said the warlord with chilly formality. ‘Delegate Izlyr, subdelegate Ssorg.’
The Doctor managed to acknowledge the greeting with suitable dignity. The other aliens now approached. Jo edged closer to the Doctor, and tried not to shudder at the bizarre parade of alien forms before her: the massive and threatening Martians, then something that looked like an operatic octopus—she lost track counting the tentacles— and, finally, a travelling goldfish bowl with a nasty-looking creepy-crawly swimming about inside. It was all too much! Like the Doctor, however, she concentrated on being sociable; at least their arrival hadn’t turned out to be too unwelcome. None of those in the throne room noticed the discreet withdrawal of Grun, the King’s Champion, as he moved stealthily from behind the throne to the half-concealed doorway that gave access to the balcony over the door outside.
‘Delegate Alpha Centauri,’ piped the gleaming hexapod, waving its tentacles excitedly, ‘the Galactic Committee is much in need of your experience and judgement.’
‘Delegate Arcturus,’ clipped out the mechanical voice of the floating neuroplasm. ‘You are late.’
mountainside. I’d like something done about recovering the machine.’
It was Hepesh who stood before the Doctor now. His face was haughty and his voice coldly suspicious. He made no gesture of greeting, and he seemed to be deliberately avoiding the presence of Jo.
‘The recovery of your space vehicle will be arranged,’ he said. ‘I am Hepesh, High Priest of Peladon. Protocol demands that you formally present your credentials of office to King Peladon. Hand them to me.’
Hepesh thrust out his hand. The Doctor could only gesture apologetically. ‘I’m sorry. That isn’t possible,’ he said. ‘You see, we lost everything in the crash.’
Hepesh didn’t look as though he believed this impromptu explanation, but before he could question it, Peladon spoke out from the throne.
‘We can deal with the protocol later, Hepesh. Present the delegate from Earth, and his companion.’
Hepesh was not to be denied all formality, however. He glanced at Jo’s slightly rumpled hair, then questioned the Doctor sternly. ‘I assume this female is of royal blood?’
Jo couldn’t help smiling at the thought, but as she made to deny the mistake, a small gesture from the Doctor kept her silent.
‘My dear chap,’ the Doctor addressed Hepesh cheerfully, ‘what makes you ask that?’ The High Priest’s arrogant expression showed how much he despised the ignorance of this new alien.
‘You are standing within the Citadel of Peladon,’ he explained. ‘This throne room is royal and most sacred. Each guard is of noble blood, and each seeks to uphold the honour of his king. Only such men of rank, and females of royal blood, may set foot here... ‘He paused, meaningfully. ‘The penalty for trespass... is death.’
‘Doctor—‘ she exclaimed regally, dismissing Hepesh with a sweeping wave of the hand, ‘I refuse to deal through intermediaries. Kindly present us to your royal host!’
For a moment, Hepesh was rendered speechless by Jo’s words. The Doctor stepped in quickly.
‘Yes, of course,’ he muttered hastily, then moved forward past Hepesh to the foot of the throne, Jo’s hand resting on his with regal condescension. ‘King Peladon— as Earth delegate, I greet you. May I also present Her Royal Highness Josephine, Princess of...’ For a brief second he floundered, ‘Princess of Tardis!’
Jo curtseyed deeply, while the Doctor bowed. Peladon indicated that they should rise. His words were addressed to them both, but his eyes were fixed on Jo. He could see now that she was not as he first thought, a living reincarnation of his mother, Ellua the Earth Princess. But he had seen how even Hepesh had been startled by the uncanny resemblance to portraits of his mother as a young woman. To those who believed in omens, this beautiful
visitor must point to good fortune!
‘Greetings, Princess, said Peladon, smiling warmly. ‘I’m sorry that your long journey ended so uncomfortably.’
Jo smiled at the young man who sat before her. He might be a king, but he certainly wasn’t stuffy or snobbish, for all the splendid clothes he wore. He must be about my age, Jo decided. Handsome, too. And as he was being so friendly, she could afford to be one up on the Doctor for a
change. After all, she was a Princess—he was a mere
Doctor!
‘The whole business was quite deplorable, your majesty.’ She threw a half-glance at the Doctor, then, continued. ‘The pilot was unfortunately rather inefficient.’
Doctor thought wryly as the king continued to address Jo, a little too friendly for the High Priest’s peace of mind.
‘I’m glad it was nothing more serious,’ said the king. ‘You bring a welcome beauty to a solemn occasion.’
Jo was pleased with the compliment. ‘Thank you, your majesty. You’re very kind.’ At the same time she was uneasily aware of Hepesh’s cruel eyes, boring into the back of her head. She concentrated on Peladon.
‘As you may know, my mother was an Earthwoman,’ continued the king.
The aliens, not understanding the significance of this apparently trivial conversation, fidgeted, restlessly. No one noticed that one person was missing—Grun.
The King’s Champion had by now reached the top of the short stair that gave access to the balcony over the throne room doors. He paused, lithe-footed and silent as a cat, for all his burly strength. From behind him, the voice of the king mingled with those of the aliens. Soon they would come out into the corridor below. He must be ready for them. Underneath his ornate perch, two guards stood impassive and unhearing. They must know nothing of what he was about to do. The simple instruments that he would need lay waiting behind the great stone statue of the Royal Beast. Grun made the holy sign of obedience and set about his task. Even with the block of stone as fulcrum and the metal bar as a lever, it would not be easy. But Grun’s mighty strength would do the rest, when the time came to act.
Jo had turned from the throne to face Izlyr.
‘Princess, what is your power on the Committee of Assessment?’ he asked.
The Doctor knew that Jo had even less idea of the purpose of the aliens Committee than he did. He answered for her quickly.
Izlyr understood and was satisfied.’ Ah, I see, he commented with a brief nod. ‘As on my planet, you still preserve the aristocratic process... ‘
‘Yes,’ observed the Doctor, ‘in a democratic sort of way.’ He returned Jo’s little smile of gratitude.
Arcturus, however, was not particularly pleased.
‘Chairman delegate,’ rapped out that metallic voice, ‘we are not here to indulge in social diplomacy!’
‘Er—no... of course not,’ mumbled the Doctor, still without knowing the purpose of the Committee. Fortunately, Arcturus provided the answer.
‘Our purpose is to consider admitting this somewhat backward planet into the Galactic Federation.’
‘Thank you for reminding me,’ replied the Doctor, his mind on Izlyr. What was an Ice Warrior warlord doing on a Committee such as this? Alpha Centauri’s fluting voice broke into his thoughts.
‘Unfortunately, the success of our mission is threatened already—by violence!’
‘That’s hardly a promising start, is it?’ replied the Doctor pleasantly. ‘What has happened, exactly?’
On the balcony, all was ready. Grun had inserted the metal bar beneath the base of the statue. His hands rested on it lightly, ready to lever it from its base. He listened intently to the distant sound of voices coming from the throne room. Soon the audience would be ended and the aliens would enter the trap.
‘The King’s Chancellor has been killed!’ squeaked Alpha Centauri.
‘Destroyed by a legend,’ observed Izlyr with chilly disbelief.
‘It is a blatant attempt to intimidate the members of the Committee!’ grated Arcturus.
‘Gentlemen! We are members of a formal committee and not a gang of squabbling children!’ The group fell silent. It was Izlyr who spoke next.
‘Your reproof is deserved, Chairman delegate. This discussion should be continued elsewhere.’
‘Then let us proceed to the delegates conference room,’ rasped Arcturus.
‘A splendid idea’, said the Doctor, and at Peladon’s nod of agreement bowed and led the other delegates towards the throne room doors and out.
4
The Doctor Must Die
Outside the throne room, the Doctor paused and turned back to let Jo join him at the head of the group. He smiled politely at Izlyr who was standing close behind him, and started to speak - but the sentence never came. A fine drift of stone dust had fallen onto his cloak and, brushing it off, the Doctor looked upwards. Almost in the same movement, with a speed of reflex that would have done credit to a wild animal, he hurled himself at the group behind him, bringing them down all of a heap. They had not even reached the floor when the great stone image smashed into the ground beside them with a terrifying impact.
Peladon jumped to his feet and moved forward in alarm. Before he could reach the door, Hepesh had checked him, his face full of foreboding.
‘No, majesty—there is danger! Wait!’
‘But what has happened?’ cried the young king, full of apprehension. ‘If any of the delegates have been harmed...’ The rest of the sentence went unspoken, but the meaning was known to both the king and to Hepesh. The aliens had weapons not yet seen in action on Peladon. Their vengeance would surely be a terrible one.
‘It is your majesty’s safety that matters,’ said Hepesh. But his eyes were not on the king. He was deliberately screening the return of Grun. Like a shadow, the King’s Champion glided to his royal masters side. The king looked back at him, unaware that he had ever been away. But, thought Hepesh grimly, how well had he succeeded?
‘You saved our lives, Doctor.’ His harsh, hissing voice sounded genuinely grateful, but the Doctor could read nothing from his mask-like face.
‘Sorry I didn’t have time to explain,’ joked the Doctor, and moved across to the shattered statue, its terrifying face turned upwards to the smoky ceiling. The guards nearby made no move to help. They crouched, heads bowed, moaning with fear.
‘This is outrageous,’ wailed Alpha Centauri, tentacles thrashing about wildly. ‘Terrible! We could have been killed.’ The hexapod’s colour was palpitating green and blue.
Arcturus was, as expected, unemotional. He trundled close to the fallen statue.
‘The gravitational forces involved were in excess of humanoid resistance,’ he computed flatly. ‘Serious damage would have resulted on impact.’
‘Your objective reaction is admirable,’ observed the Doctor drily, ‘but you might’ve been killed too, Arcturus.’
‘My sensor readings are not concerned with emotional response,’ commented the mechanical voice, ‘—only deduction.’
‘Even deductive processes can be annihilated,’ said Izlyr, with icy reasoning.
‘Alright, Jo?’ asked the Doctor, seeing his young companions drawn face grow even paler.
‘Just a bit wobbly at the knees, that’s all,’ replied Jo bravely. She suddenly found herself pushed aside by Hepesh, who stood staring down at the shattered stone image.
‘Aggedor has been merciful.’ he spoke bleakly, silently registering the fact that, thanks to this new Earthling delegate, not one of the aliens had been harmed. He didn’t allow his disappointment to show, however, as he raised his eyes to the Doctor’s. ‘We must give thanks that you have all been spared...’
‘Yes,’ agreed the Doctor, ‘but why didn’t the Aggedor manifestation actually appear? Strange, that.’
‘An investigation into the cause is necessary,’ rasped Arcturus. ‘A full report must be prepared!’
‘The cause is simple, exclaimed Hepesh. ‘This is yet another sign of Aggedor’s anger! His ghost walks among us!’
‘A pretty substantial ghost, then,’ remarked the Doctor, looking up at the balcony above them, ‘to be able to shift a solid granite statue.’
‘The spirit of Aggedor can move mountains!’ claimed the High Priest.
His face showed deep irritation at the alien’s lack of piety and respect.
Jo had moved to a position where she could work out the trajectory of the statue from the balcony. ‘It seems
more like he was trying to remove us!’
Alpha Centauri had calmed down considerably, but was still distraught, its skin colour fluctuating wildly from mauve to pale green. ‘But why should he seek to attack us?’ the hexapod squealed. ‘Our mission is peaceful. We come to raise the people of Peladon from barbarism!’
‘Maybe they don’t want to be raised,’ muttered Jo, still staring at the layout of the balcony. The Doctor caught her eye, and nodded, indicating with a slight movement of his head where he thought access to the balcony could be found: close by the throne room doorway. As the others continued to query Hepesh’s gloomy predictions of doom, Jo sidled quietly towards the doorway, unobserved.
‘Hepesh,’ demanded Izlyr impatiently, ‘you say this manifestation is foretold in your ancient writings. What form is it supposed to take? Tell us that!’
